Origins of a Templar
by Dance of the Dead
Summary: My take on an origin type story, should there be one for a Templar type character. Original Character in the Dragon Age: Origins world.


There was panic, absolute panic. Fear clung to those who had survived the first wave of dread. The Circle of Magi was under attack from within; the usually ordered collective having succumbed to chaos, usurped from within. The Templars had attempted to keep everything in order as best they could; but in the end the only ultimatum was to seal the entrance to the tower that held the mages, both good and bad, until the rite of annulment had been passed.

Knight-Commander Greagoir had tried to keep a cool head over matters and had been shouting orders at his men since the ordeal had begun. His throat was dry and hoarse from the constant barking of orders. A forlorn quiet had fallen over the entrance to the Tower of Magi as several Templars scurried about, shuffling in their heavy armour attending to various tasks at hand. Greagoir moved over to where several wounded lie on the stone floor, assessing the damage to his troops.

"What can you report?" he asked of one of the mages attending to the injured.

"Ser Mattias has broken his arm, Ser Everard is still unconscious but I've managed to heal the bleeding and Ser Flloyd…" The healer spoke with as much compassion for the Templars as she dared, they were her guardians, but they were also her friends. "There isn't much more I can do for him, aside from make him comfortable."

Greagoir placed his heavy gauntleted hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze; the young mage looked up to him. "If only I'd have been inside, maybe I could have helped, maybe I could have stopped all this."

"You are helping now." The older Templar assured her, "What happened to Everard?" He questioned, looking down to where the younger associate lay resting against a stone pillar. There was confusion in his voice, Everard had always been a stalwart member of the Order; dutiful, alert and well respected amongst them, it was unlike him to be brought down under circumstances, even ones as strange as these.

"We aren't sure; Ser Mattias dragged him down here before the door was sealed." The mage knelt down to look over him once again, making sure that the bandage wrapped around the Templars head was tight enough.

Greagoir looked to where Mattias was standing with another of the Templars, the Knight-Commander headed over to where they stood talking, the conversation between his two subordinates didn't seem to have the most positive of topics, and the elder Templar couldn't blame them for that.

"How is the arm?" Greagoir asked the well built Templar as he approached, Mattias had his arm wrapped up in a sling which was elevated across his body, as such the Templar had had to dispense of the heavy armour uniform and wore little more than a pair of leather trousers and metal greaves.

"It will heal." He answered giving a glance to the arm that had been attended to by the mages.

"What happened to Everard?" He questioned.

Mattias used his free arm to take Greagoir by the elbow; nodding to the man he had been previously speaking to. What he needed to say about the unconscious Templar shouldn't be overheard by others for the sake of the respected knight. Greagoir moved to a more secluded corner of the entrance hall so that they could speak in hushed voices.

"I find it most concerning." Mattias spoke.

Greagoir studied the young templar as he gave voice to his troubles. The man was young, physically fit and a fine example of the Order. He was a youngster compared to many in the Order, only just past his twentieth year. He had come a long way already in his service, and had a promising career ahead of him despite what caused him to be currently unable to carry out his duty.

"I found Ser Everard as I was evacuating the Tower; he was in one of the mages rooms." The Young Templar paused momentarily in his explanation, and Greagoir urged him to continue. "It's hard to explain, Sir." He paused again before blurting out. "I found him fornicating with a desire demon."

Greagor quickly folded his arms as Mattias spoke to him, an agitated frown formed on his face just as quickly as his arms had crossed. "What?" he questioned, unbelieving of what he had heard about his trusted brother in arms. "He was bewitched?" He pressed another question, despite knowing that the younger Mattias would be uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

"I don't think so, no." He shook his head, and cringed as his arm sent a spasm of renewed pain through him.

"You're certain?" Greagoir questioned. "These are very grave accusations."

Mattias studied his Knight-Commander carefully, trying to gauge his superior for a reaction to his words before speaking again; trying to step around the news as carefully as he could without skimping out on any of the details. "He acted as though any normal man would do upon being caught doing the forbidden; he tried to cover up what he had been doing. Would a bewitched man do this?" Mattias asked.

Greagoir shook his head solemnly. "No." he answered his subordinate. "What happened?"

"I tried to dispel the demon, he attacked me and so I defended myself." Mattias turned his gaze towards the floor. "I hit him over the head with my shield, and knocked him unconscious. I didn't know what to do with him, so I brought him down here."

"Is that how your arm got broken?" Greagoir continued.

"Yes."

Greagoir moved his gauntlet clad hand to the bridge of his nose to try and think about what had happened. As if the Circle of Magi being thrown into chaos wasn't bad enough; he now had to sort out corruption within his own order as well. "Very good Mattias, you may return to your post." He dismissed the Templar, he himself headed back towards the main part of the entrance hall, giving Everard; once a trusted man and friend a vicious look as he past him. He could scarcely believe the information he had just received about the other Templar; but somehow he couldn't doubt what he had been told. He had had the feeling that Everard had been distant from his duties as of late and despite questioning the other Templars resolve; he could find nothing wrong in his work or actions. In fact, the man had only recently returned from a maleficarum hunt and his success had been celebrated by the Ferelden Templars. Greagoir thought that he knew and understood those under his command and how this strange case had slipped him be he couldn't understand. Upon returning to his previous station his attention went to the direr situation at hand. Whatever happened to his companion would have to wait until the mages within the circle had been dealt with. Two fully armoured Templars ran passed him towards the main entrance to the building and he called to one of his other subordinates; the one Mattias had been speaking with earlier.

They came over, ready to receive their orders.

Speaking with a voice that reinstated his command Greagoir gave the order; "Do not let that mage out of your sight." He motioned to the mage that had been healing the Templars earlier "…and I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?"

The Templar nodded and confirmed the order, leaving Greagoir to his own counsel for only a small fraction of time before another; unknown approached him, commenting on the situation without giving an introduction for themselves. The Knight-Commander gave the intruders a cautious glance and despite wanting to know what he had done to deserve the harassment of strangers on top of all his other troubles, he simply answered; "Now we wait, and pray."

Everard came to with a groan, his head felt like it was about to cave in on itself and his vision blurred. His hand rose to his eye to try and offer the pounding orb some mild level of comfort.

"Easy." Soothed a young female, her voice was comforting and he was glad to note she was speaking in hushed tones for him.

"What happened?" He questioned, his voice unlike hers sounded far too loud inside his own head and he redoubled his efforts to speak quietly.

"You were knocked unconscious when the fighting started." She answered moving around him, starting to fuss over the wrapping around his head.

"Fighting?" He asked drearily but alarmed, forgetting about his efforts to be quieter and instantly regretting it. His hand moved from his eye to his closely shaven scalp, he was trying his best to figure out what he could recall and what was just a vision that his subconscious had brought for him. He wasn't entirely certain where he was settled either; though as he gave glance about his surroundings it came back to him; the entrance to the Tower that housed the Circle of Magi.

"How long have I been out?" He asked the mage attending to him.

"About three hours." She answered, backing away from him as his hands rose to his head, but she didn't speak on what the fighting had been about. She watched over him a moment as he fell silent lost in his own thoughts and pain. Giving Everard the chance to recover both mentally and physically; for which he was grateful, the space was giving him time to recover from being unconscious and for the pain to slip away from him slowly.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching the two of them halted the recovery process for him and he looked up from where he was slumped to see his superior approaching. Despite the strain, he went to get to his feet, "Knight-Commander." Everard spoke in greeting to the greying man that approached him.

Greagoir held out his hand to stop Everard from getting to his feet. "There is no need to stand." He spoke with his arms folded across his chest; much like he had done with his other subordinate earlier. "How is the head?" He asked

"I will be fine." Everard answered getting to his feet despite being told not to. "I can return to service." He added, "It looks like you could use the help." Everard glanced around the entrance, noting that there were very few mages and many Templar in the halls; he also noted a strange look upon one of the Templars faces in his direction, was that disgust?

"Indeed, but the matter is in hand." Greagoir answered.

"Matter? What has happened to the Magi?" Everard asked, returning quickly to the mindset of the Templar; dutiful, dedicated and utterly committed to his work.

"We are still not clear. Abominations and demons have somehow taken over the tower. The last action we took was to send in the Grey Warden and her companions to look for survivors and we are still waiting for the Rite of Annulment from the Chantry in Denerim." Greagoir explained, and before Everard could speak on the matter, he questioned; "Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I…" He started to speak, and found he couldn't hold Greagoirs stern stare. "I remember everything." He confessed, involuntarily his face flushed and he refused to look towards his superior.

Greagoir nodded and he answered with heat to his voice. "There will be a full inquiry. But for today, I still need you; I need you where I can see you." He added his anger was clearly showing in his face. The Knight-Commander hadn't wanted to believe Mattias; he hadn't wanted to deal with the complicated affair that would go with one of his Templars breaking their sacred vows and he certainly hadn't wanted to deal with the embarrassment it would bring to his order! Especially when coupled with the absolute disaster that was going on behind the doors he had had to seal earlier behind the Grey Warden.

"Yes Ser." Everard nodded solemnly, knowing full well that his crimes would not go unpunished and that he had been allowed to remain in service on borrowed time. He lent forward to pick up his helmet and carried it off underneath his arm as he moved towards his station within the Towers entrance, the consequences of his actions looming over him and his thoughts. He knew that his actions were unforgivable in the eyes of the Maker and his judgement would be understandably harsh; that didn't stop his mind ticking over the sentence that he might be served, he hung his head as another Templar passed him, the young one that had caught him. He rolled his helmet from underneath his arm into his hand, and placed the metal cage over his head; if for no other reason that to hide his face from his associates.

Everard stood rigid outside the mages chambers, keeping a watchful eye upon their actions and learning, although he looked as though he was half asleep while attending to his uneventful duties his abilities were still active; listening for any sign of unsavoury action from any one of the mages within their study rooms. The door itself was closed as some sort of lesson was going on within being taught by the senior enchanter and another Templar would be inside with the mages, keeping them in direct contact. His attention was drawn away from his duties as he heard someone approaching where he stood, looking through his helmeted prison towards the one that was heading his way his shoulders sagged a fraction, it was another of his colleagues.

"Knight-Commander wants to see you." They spoke through their own helmet, and he recognised the voice of Ser Cullen.

Everard nodded as he was relieved of his post and made his way towards the Knight-Commanders quarters. He already knew what this would be about, even though little less than a month had passed since chaos had broken out at the Circle his actions had not been forgotten, let alone forgiven and now more than ever he was forced to dwell upon what may soon be his fate. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a drawn sigh, and as he opened them a line of young mages were wandering in his direction. They were only small children, and he guessed them to be between ten and eleven in age; they made him smile. How they chattered to one another as one of the circles senior enchanters led them around the Tower, all of them moved to the side of the hallway when they saw him coming, their laughter and giggling stopped as he passed them by. Their fear and apprehension of his presence wasn't startling, and given time it may even be something that would fade entirely. He had seen it before in earlier generations of new child mages and it was something that he would see again. He hoped.

The walk to the Knight-Commanders office seemed to take him a long time and with the fresh imprint in his mind of newly recruited mages to the Circle, he began to dread his fate all the more. When he arrived outside the closed doors he removed the helmet from his head, and as he lowered it he ran his hand over his scarred scalp; the wound caused by his fellow Templar having knitted together and healed nicely thanks to the mages healing, but there would always be a nasty reminder on his flesh for what had happened. With the Helmet rested professionally in the crook of his arm, Everard knocked on the Knight-Commanders door.

"Come." He heard Greagoir call; and with no hesitation he entered his superiors' office.

Greagoir looked up to see who had disturbed him, and his face turned grim.

"You wanted to see me, Ser." Everard stated.

"Indeed." Greagoir answered. "I have here a full report from Mattias, results from the mind sweep as well as statements from First Enchanter Irving." Greagoir was being blunt and to the point, cutting to the depth of the meeting instantly.

Everard stood to attention in front of the large wooden desk that Greagoir used for his studies. The Knight-Commander had held a pile of vellum in his hand and threw them down on the desk as he stood up. "Frankly, I find the results disturbing." He stated. "How a Templar of twenty five years betrays their sacred vows to the Maker is completely beyond me." Greagoirs voice was tight, full of anger. "And you offer no case for your defence?"

"There is nothing to defend." Everard returned his voice was surprisingly calm and even, something that shocked even him.

"The mind sweep confirms this. One of the mages scanned you as you spoke of your experiences. She claims to have sensed desire, attraction, and satisfaction." Greagoir explained.

"You resorted to using Blood Magic?" Everard questioned, even though now was not the time to question the Knight-Commanders orders. He was almost as angry as Greagoir himself sounded, after a moment to gather himself his composure that he had felt earlier returned. "I have told you the truth every step of the way, there was no cause to further bring disgrace to the Tower."

"I couldn't believe it! Not about you Ser Everard!" Greagoir shouted back at him. "Twenty six years of service to the Maker and you throw it away for what!?" He demanded. "Your sacred vow of chastity shattered by a single desire demon! Why?"

Everard despite his earlier outburst about the use of the malificarum abilities fell silent. "I…" He found he couldn't speak back for a fleeting moment. "I gave in to temptation." He spoke in a lowered tone his head hung, the regret for his actions.

Greagoir moved his hand to his forehead and gave a thoughtful sigh. "I have had to speak with the Grand Cleric on this matter." His spoke trying to reign in his choler, yet the length he had to go to for any thought of resolve spoke volumes. The Knight-Commander rested his hand on the table as he spoke, "She was understandably furious." He chastised his subordinate.

"I…" Everard began speaking his head still hung.

Greagoir raised his hands to silence Everard from speaking. "I'm still speaking, Ser." He further chastised. "The Grand Cleric was adamant in her decision as to your punishment. She wanted you executed!" Greagoir spoke gravely.

Everard looked towards Greagoir, taking a small step back away from him, uncertain on how to take the news; acceptance washed over him and he regathered himself. "I understand."

"I managed to talk her round from her initial decision in light of your years of service to the Order." Greagoir further explained. "You are to be removed from the Order and henceforth excommunicated from the Chantry." Greagoir frowned towards his subordinate.

Everard was speechless, utterly lost for words. Death would have been a fate that he could have coped with easier; he'd been a member of the Chantry for the past thirty years and for most of that a Templar; he knew nothing else. Life outside the Tower would almost be as alien for him as it would be for one of the mages.

"If the source of your temptation had been human I could have done more; but the Grand Cleric was perfectly clear. You've been caught with a demon; one of the very creatures we are sworn to safeguard our charges from." Greagoir explained and shook his head. "I am sorry." He added, looking to Everard and seeing fear upon his face.

Slowly Everard nodded. "I understand. I have brought Andraste and her Templars a great shame with my actions." He found he couldn't speak further, the words getting caught in his throat.

"Gather your belongings." Greagoir instructed him.

"All I have belongs to the Chantry; I'll go with only my clothes." Everard answered upholding the vow of poverty that he undertook upon entering the service of the Templars.

"Very well," Greagoir replied. "I will see you to the docks where Kester will see you across to the mainland."

Everard nodded and turned to leave the office, the Knight-Commander at his side, "About the Blood Mage you used?" Everard questioned even though it was no longer his place to do so.

"He was at the Tower during Uldreds revolt; The Warden investigating must have told them that they were free to leave the Tower if they could escape. They couldn't and we used their powers to our advantage." Greagoir explained, though he didn't like what he was saying, his distaste for the school of magic evident in his tone. "Irving suggested it, and while I do not like to resort to such matters I needed to know the truth."

"Where are they now?" Everard asked though he wasn't certain to what ends.

"We had them… removed." Greagoir answered as he opened one of the large hallway doors, passing through the Circles library. To the mages studying the two Templars looked like they were just doing their duties, keeping an attentive eye on those studying. One mage passed them by and nodded in greeting; Everard smiled as she gave them both room to walk by her. In that moment it truly dawned upon him that he was leaving the Tower. That female mage would be the last he saw; and he could never return. He looked over his shoulder over the great library and stopped walking.

"A moment?" He asked of the Knight-Commander and his question received a nod.

For the last time Everard took in the sights of the library and the mages at study; he was going to miss the place and more so the people within. He took a final glance before continuing on his way towards the entrance hall.

At the entrance pillar stood another Templar; always watchful for any visitors that may arrive, Greagoir once again opened the door for the excommunicate escorting him from the building. The Senior Templar closed the door behind him and before the two of them walked down the dock, Greagoir took hold of Everards elbow firmly. "There is a free-house in Denerim near the Alienage, what is yet to come will not be easy for you Ser Everard, so I suggest you use it; failing that live near people that will help you." Greagoir slipped a coin purse into his friends' hand, "This is all that I can do for you. I am sorry that it has had to come to this." He spoke plainly and clearly, there had been a lifetime of shared service between them and although Everard deserved nothing less than the punishment he got the Knight-Commander wasn't going to see him suffer alone if he could help it. Greagoir then placed a hand on the mans shoulder plate and gave it an assertive slap. "Good luck friend. May you find redemption."

Everard looked into the face of the older man and nodded his expression grave. He wasn't entirely certain what was to come but he could guess. He looked down to the boat and the ferryman that was sat on a barrel beside it, reading a paper. He slipped the coin purse into the wrist of his gauntlet and nodded to Greagoir. "Thank you, Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all." Greagoir returned, turning back to the Tower as Everard headed towards the boat.

Everard had left Lake Calenhad docks pretty much as soon as he had crossed over from the Tower, not wishing to linger under the shadow of a life that he no longer had a part in. The trek to Denerim wasn't an easy one; although the long walk through the countryside and forest had initially worked wonders on Everards guilt ridden mind his feet now ached and his throat felt parched. A dust trail wisped behind him along the track he wandered down, giving clear evidence to the harshness of the summer that encased Ferelden; and insisted on baring down upon him now. The only relief he felt was when he passed beneath some of the forests overhand giving him brief respite from the intense glare. He gave a brief glance over his shoulder as he heard the sound of a wagon coming up behind him and slowed to match his speed; he tensed and his hand move to the weapon that should be fastened at his waist, he quickly felt foolish for its absence.

"Ho, stranger!" Called a voice from atop the wagon, light and friendly there was clearly no cause for alarm.

"Afternoon." Everard called up to the man who had hailed him, raising his hand.

"Heading to the Capital?" The stranger called.

"That's the plan." Everard answered not stopping in his trek as the conversation was called between them.

"Want a lift?" The stranger asked; which caused him to stop his walking and look up to him; the man was human with long auburn hair his face was chiselled and had the potential to have a rugged appeal. It was evident in the dirt on him that he was a worker from the fields heading to the city to trade in his wares. "The roads have been increasingly dangerous with bandits, darkspawn and Makers knows what else; would be good to have some holy protection." The man explained with a sheepish smile, mutual benefit was everything.

"Sure." Everard answered; even unarmed he still wore the armour of his old order anyone that recognised his plate would be deterred or a fool to start anything. "Thank you." Everard added as he moved around to the back of the cart, climbing in amongst the items that the merchant had to sell. The sooner he made it to the capital the better; he could feel an unwelcomed apprehension building in the pit of his stomach and a desperate urge to arrive at Denerim. He felt a mild level of relief as the oxen started the cart moving at a swifter pace. Everard settled himself on the back ledge of the cart, keeping an eye on the road behind them, watching the dust fade away into nothingness amidst the vibrant sky.

_The place felt strange, lucid and ever changing. Everard knew that it wasn't real; he was dreaming and he didn't feel the urge to do anything about that fact. He was in no immediate danger, dreams were just that, dream; Manifestations of his own subconscious. This imprint of his imagination was entirely pleasant, a relief from the hard working world that he usually inhabited. Green expanses of fields with the unusual twist of pillars amongst the landscape, there was a cool breeze brushing the tips of the trees which broke the heat of the day perfectly. _

_Everard took the time to explore his fictitious surroundings, admiring a tall statue as he approached it, with little care to burden his mind he felt free to take in its majesty. It was a life here that he could never have for himself; and that was what made it feel so alien, yet so welcomed. He knew that when he awoke it would be back to hunting down malificar; keeping a watch out for apostate mages among his flock. The serenity of his surroundings kept him from thinking about his duty with to much conviction. His hand reached out and brushed against some soft looking leaves of a shrub and he smiled as it caressed his bare skin. Gone was the plate armour from his chest and shoulders, replaced with a simple thin shirt, the fabric was soothing and he felt relieved to have the heavy burden of his plate gone from his form. In replace of the full length chain skirt and armoured greaves was an equally simple set of leather trousers and boots. Everard dared to sound a contented sigh; Maker this was bliss!_

_Then_

_He was suddenly aware that he wasn't alone._

_Everard looked over his shoulder and quickly tensed as his gaze found who had been observing him, invading his private dream. She was a demon of desire; he knew that much from the first glance he had of her, the dull grey and purple colour of her skin giving her away as much as the giant horns protruding from her forehead. She wore what was expected of her kind, very little aside a thin chain across her chest and wrappings over her thighs. All about her suggested she was a typical specimen of her kind; yet she made no attempt to attack him where he stood little chance against her. If nothing else she seemed to be observing him with the same level of curious intrigue that he was giving her. _

_Everard could see her scrutinizing him from where she was resting against the trunk of a tree and as she raised her hand to give a small hesitant wave to her he cast his gaze downwards; ashamed that his dream-fevered eye had lingered on her for as long as it had. It was a grave sin against the Maker and his holy order to have allowed himself to watch her without taking action against her for so long._

"Don't see many of you travelling alone." The stranger roused Everard from his undesired recollection.

"It's not common, but it's been known." Everard answered about his being alone without delving into the details.

"Do you have Chantry business in Denerim?" He was questioned.

"Something like that." He answered the farmhand, his voice abrupt and irritable.

"I don't mean to pry." The farmhand replied with apologetic tones. "I'll leave you to it."

Everard nodded and went back to watching the rear road in silence.

It was early evening by the time that Everard arrived at Denerim and the dipping sun brought with it the cooler, usually more pleasant air. Yet he still felt blisteringly warm, he wiped his forehead on the cold metal of his gauntlet and it momentarily soothed his burning skin. As the cart he was riding in drew to a stop he jumped out the back of it. He approached the farm hand that had driven him to the capital to speak the parting words of "Maker watch over you," they rolled off his tongue without him having to think. The road into the capital was backed up a ways with traffic of people come to sell their wares at the markets, Everard bypassed the carts on foot. Even with the setting sun there was a dull throbbing growing in his temples and the brighter lights and reflections caused a searing pain in his eyes.

Finding the safe-house with his head feeling like it was about to implode wasn't an easy task, it was in a rather run down section of the capital, as Greagoir had promised not far from the elven alienage. The house itself was a single storey building with a small fenced off front garden; both house and yard were over looked on both sides by taller buildings. He felt an instant wave of relief as he approached the small house, even though he was vaguely aware that one of the neighbours was watching him from their window. The house however relieved an anxiousness that had started to settle in his mind and made a permanent home there since he had first set foot in Denerim; at least he would be able to sleep off the intense migraine that he was experiencing.

The moment he put his hand on the gate he felt his stomach lurch and he faltered, suddenly feeling ultimately weak and severely unwell. His hand tightened around the wood of the gate as he double over in cramped up pain and he was only remotely aware that there was someone beside him; guiding him through the gate and the door of the house as he was bent double one hand wrapped around his stomach and the other using the stranger as a prop.

The woman led the way into the house, opening the front door as quickly as she could to with the burden of the heavily armoured templar hanging off her shoulder. She moved with him into the main room of the house, and over to a bed in the far corner. She helped to ease him down and Everard rested with his head in his hands, uttering a low groan.

"How long did it take you to get here?" The woman asked as she moved about the single roomed house, picking up a tankard from a battered old desk.

"Little over a day?" He replied, partial question in his own voice. Her movement were maddening and doing very little to ease his throbbing head and a frown formed on his face.

The woman poked her head through the front door and shouted something that he couldn't hear well enough beyond a blaring din; but within moments there was another stranger in the house with them. This one a man, though Everard didn't look up to pay either of them much attention, just wanting to be rid of them so he could get some sleep.

The man came over and explained something to him about the armour and that he needed to take it off him; really he was asking for the templars permission to remove the heavy plate. Everard gave the man a cold stare.

"I can do it myself," He stated rigidly and went to stand so that he could prove his words; however he was caught out by a spasm that warped through his stomach and he doubled over again from the pain it twisted through him.

Upon seeing this, the man went about removing Everards armour for him anyway, and the usually stubborn templar said nothing in protest. Too busy trying to focus on anything other than the agony that was working its wonders on him. The man made quick work of taking the many layers of plate from him and the woman stowed them carefully on a display rack so they wouldn't be damaged during the unfolding events to come.

Once freed from the burden of the plate and chainmail the woman helped him lie down on the bed and made him feel as comfortable as possible, though she knew how fruitless this task was. Everard was curled fetal, even though the hand around his stomach was doing little to help ease the pain of the spasmodic cramps the comfort of it soothed his mind; even though his head was in a totally different world of pain.

The woman looked to the man and nodded, she sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hand carefully on his forehead; she could feel the warmth of him before her fingers touched his flesh; his skin was damp with sweat. Everard, continued to be irritated by her actions swatter her hand away angrily before rolling over again; uttering the words, "Leave me be."

Speaking in softer tones she told him. "I will check on you in the morning, try and get some rest." She then silently got to her feet and with the man, left the house, locking the door from the outside as they left.


End file.
